


And Finally

by Avelyesqe



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Gen, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Reincarnation AU, but i will figure it out, i'm really confused about these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelyesqe/pseuds/Avelyesqe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they all struggle with identities, balance, and memories, and some find their way (or each other), while others choose differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the really nice illustrations by someone on Tumblr, but I can't find them, someone halp?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fantine can't cut a break and Valjean tries his best.

“But sir, I—“

“Oh, hush up, you.”

Felicia immediately looked down, like a scolded puppy familiar with abuse. Her manager yelling her wasn’t uncommon, but this was the first time her job was actually on the line.

_…little innocent sister…_

“I’m sorry, sir, for this inconvenience. I can assure that it won’t. Happen. Again,” her manager said, while glaring at her.

… _let’s have all the news..._

Felicia didn’t even know what had happened. Not entirely. The customer had accused her of setting him up as a thief so she could reap the rewards of catching the dumb, blind fool. He even had a receipt to prove that he had actually purchased something, and that the necklace in question (a single three carat London blue sapphire on a fourteen inch 18k gold chain) was supposed to have been rung up as well.

_…the one who began it…_

  
But Felicia didn’t ring him up. Felicia had just gotten to work: she hadn’t rung anyone up. She wasn’t even assigned to the registers. But it didn’t matter. Her manager had it out for her. He considered her a debt (that he thought had been paid over at least twice) to her deceased mother, for lending him the money (which he never paid back) to start his jewelry store. But as time went on, he quickly forgot her mother’s soft smile and natural kindness, and as an inherently cruel and selfish man, quickly brought his business to the top through means that could hardly be called legal.

As the manager brought him through the store and gave him special offers (allowing him to leave with his purchases (after ringing them up at a discount) and a fifty percent off coupon for his next visit) to make up for the lack of friendly customer service, he couldn’t help but deviously grin at Felicia. He almost felt bad for her, looking dejected as she tried to make an honest living as best as she could. But no matter, he had a job to do and a ‘manager’ to report to himself. While this wasn’t his usual style (violent and vicious. He usually ended his ‘shifts’ with fresh blood on his hands), he was more than happy to watch the girl as she tried holding back her sobs and watched her livelihood slip away.  

_…right, my girl…_

Though what bothered Felicia most was not the customer’s glances, but that one of her coworkers, another beneficiary of her mother’s kindness, Jonathan, stood by watching without a word. She kept begging him with her eyes to help her, but all he responded with were shrugs that indicated he didn’t know what to do. “Anything,” she wanted to plead, the word dancing on her lips. After many desperate glances in his direction, and meeting his eyes more than once, Felicia gave up as time and time again he failed to come to her rescue. As the three of them walked away, Jonathan went to clock out and go home.

… _on your way…_

That was years ago, but that was all Felicia could think of as she was listening to the officer recite her rights to her. You can’t be prepared for everything, she knew that. But she also didn’t expect to get harassed and assaulted that night.

... _I’ll kill you…_

She also didn’t think her attacker would make up some bullshit story, call her a dirty prostitute, and say she attacked him first. She didn’t think the officer would believe it without any proof (the asshole didn’t have a scratch on him). She sighed as she felt the cool metal click around her wrists.

_…try any of that…_

As she was being lead to the police car, a vaguely familiar man jogged up to them. “I-uh,” he started, panting and out of breath, “I was… by … street light, because … nice … to go … walk… but,” he stopped for a moment, tried of panting his words (he was sure none of them could understand what he was saying anyway. He could tell by the wide-eyed looks they were giving him) and tried to regain control of his breath.

_…is there no mercy…_

He righted himself, having been supporting himself on the hood of the police car, and took a sharp inhalation before restarting his story. “Sorry about that. Like I was trying to say, I was over by the street light because it’s nice outside and I wanted to go for a walk, so I saw what happened. He harassed and assaulted her long before she even tried to touch him.”

 _…this woman’s tale…_  
  
The officer, clearly annoyed at this new development, relented after a moment’s consideration. He didn’t release Felicia from her chains, but turned towards where her attacker had been standing only to find that he was no longer there or in the surrounding area. “Well,” he started, considering what to do, and it was as this precise moment that the witness noticed the cuts on Felicia’s face and torso. They didn’t look particularly bad, but they probably needed stitches or other medical attention that he couldn’t provide.

 _…a doctor, not a jail…_  
  
“I’m assuming you didn’t get his name,” he said to both of them. “So you can’t press charges and those cuts look pretty bad.” He turned towards the officer, “Why don’t you let me take her to the hospital. I’m sure you’re quite busy, guarding the streets and everything.”

_…don’t mock me now…_

The officer looked torn. He couldn’t prosecute Felicia without the defendant and it didn’t look as if Felicia had any intention of insisting that they search for the other man. He clenched his jaw and unlocked Felicia before leaving the two with a begrudging “be careful” before he got into the car and drove off.

_… it’s hard…_

Felicia allowed herself to be gently pulled into the light by the other man. She had decided to trust him. Whether that was a good idea or not, she didn’t know, but he was right about her cuts: they hurt.

… _lost my pride…_

As they reached the street lamp, Felicia found it harder and harder to identify her savior, despite the growing notion that she knew him. She started into his eyes as he gave a cursory look at the cuts on her face. Perhaps it was the look on his face that made it hard for her to identify him: he didn’t look confused and helpless, but rather informed, knowing, and determined.  
  
“So now you decide to help me,” she spat at Jonathan.

 _…send me away…_  
  
“I didn’t realize it was you until I got over there,” he replied calmly, still holding her cheek and examining her wounds.

… _yes, you were there…_

She pulled away, “I don’t need your help. Not anymore.”

… _and turned aside…_  
  
Though they weren’t saying much, they both felt a strange sense of deja-vu.

_…is it true…_

Felicia thought this was a result of what had happened in the jewelry store; Jonathan couldn’t place it, but whenever this had happened, it happened long ago. 

_…what I’ve done…_

Then it hit them.

 _…there’s a God above…_  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said cautiously, “for last time.”  
  
They both knew what he was apologizing for, and it wasn’t the incident from a couple years ago.  
  
“It’s okay,” she said softly.

Suddenly, she lunged forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace, which he gladly returned. They stood there, wrapped in each other, for a few moments. The only noise they could hear was their breathing and the ambience of a dark night; the frogs croaking and the crickets chirping. He let go first and took her shoulders in his hands.  
  
“Let’s go get your face patched up.”  
  
She nodded and followed him to the car in his driveway, clutching his hand all the way.  
  
Her treatment wasn’t extensive. A few stitches on her face and over the longer cut on her torso, but nothing serious. They released her the next afternoon, and he had been waiting for her in the lobby.  
  
“I know it’s kind of soon, but I think we have a few things to talk about,” he said as he examined her bandages.  
  
They left the hospital and went to her flat. She quietly made some tea for the two of him while he sat on her couch. After handing him his cup, she took the seat opposite of him and listened.

“Why didn’t we realize sooner?” he asked imploringly, no doubt feeling bad for what had transpired in their current lives.

“Who knows. Maybe we weren’t ready.”  
  
“I’m really sorry.”  
  
“You told me already.”  
  
“No, for the jewelry store.”  
  
“Oh.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if—“  
  
“We wouldn’t have remembered if this hadn’t happened.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?”  
  
“It’s just a feeling.”

She took another sip of her tea, unwilling to voice what they both were thinking. She looked at him over the rim of her cup, not surprised to find him looking around her flat. After all he had never been to her home before: the last time he took her to the doctor’s she hadn’t gone back home.  
  
“So,” she started, unsure of what she was going to say, “do you think—?”  
  
He cut her off with a nod. “We can’t be the only ones.”  
  
“How would we find them? Have they even remembered?”  
  
“No telling, but I think we should try to find them anyway.”  
  
She nodded in agreement, then turned her thoughts to places she thought her daughter (except not really. She didn’t have a daughter this time.) might be. He seemed to read her thoughts and suggested that they both rest up and start looking on Friday night; they both had work after all. After a few more exchanges, he left her flatwith a promise to meet pick her up on Friday to go searching for shadows of their past.  
  
“We don’t know what they look like anymore. Finding them won’t be easy. There’s no way we’ll be able to recognize any of them.” he said while standing in her doorway.  
  
“But we’ll know,” she said, firm in her opinion. A soft, hopeful smile played on her lips as she said goodnight and retired to her room. That night she dreamed of France and days when Cosette stood by. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will get very ship heavy, but this is just the prologue.  
> I'm also sorry about names, because they're hard and I struggle.


	2. The Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The center must come first, else who would they revolve around?

It’s a magnet. And with her long tendrils she pulls him closer, whispering promises she can’t keep. Promises of long lost friends and happiness. Regardless, he lets the force pull him in.

_…do you hear…_

He thinks he can hear jubilant shouts, and cries, and gunshots in the background, but there’s nothing. The café pulls him closer. And closer. And closer.

_…the people sing…_

He thinks he’s going crazy. He probably is, he’s never heard voices in his head before. He considers going to a psychiatrist after he leaves the café (but something deep inside him tells him he’ll never leave). The pull feels so natural that he starts to forget it was ever there.

He’s been past it before and inside it once: The Café Musain. It’s not a bad place (though the owners are sketchy) and it’s about a five minute walk from his dorm. As he opens the front door, he wonders why he doesn’t go there more often since it’s so close. Once he enters he remembers why. Just as the first time he had been inside, he’s taken aback by the interior and makes a note to let the bartender know that they should find a new interior designer. It’s dark and the only adjective that comes to his mind is antique. There are lighting fixtures, but they’re dimmed by large shades. It takes his eyes a couple minutes to adjust as he makes his way to take a seat on one of the stools.

_…singing the song…_

“So what brings you here today,” a familiar voice asks. 

He looks up, startled, the words threatening to pour over his lips and float freely into the air. But surely he couldn’t tell his fellow student that he had a dream (about a delicate blonde girl and her breakable mother, about loud shots and gunshots, about vicious fighting and a brief pain before the blackness, about a café (which looked strangely like the Musain) and a group of people he loudly called his friends, but couldn’t name) and that’s what brought him here.

“I dunno,” was his reply instead. “But can I recommend to you a different interior designer? It’s very…dark in here,” he said, glancing around.   
  
“It’s decorated like this to supposedly go with the architecture. The owners renovated it a little to keep it standing, but otherwise it’s 19th century. There’s one room up top that’s rumored to have been left untouched.”

“I guess that’s cool,” he replied, only moderately interested.  
  
“Yeah, but—“ his acquaintance started to reply before being cut off by a sharp “Cole!” from the back room. “I’ll be right back,” Cole sighed as he left the counter.  
  
He nodded and allowed his eyes to roam the room. Having adjusted to the dim lighting, he realized that it wasn’t so bad. He could get used to it. It had a quaint little charm, as well as an echo of a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. The voices came back, enticing him to stay and never leave again. But then again, maybe it was Cole trying to raise his pay.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Cole started, pushing his glasses back. “The owners. They’re…a little rough around the edges.”

_…of angry men…_

  
“It’s all good, my friend,” he said jovially, “now about this little room…” he trailed off, hoping Cole would pick up quickly.

“Ah, yes.” After a quick glance towards the back where he had just returned from, he began speaking in a lowered tone. “They’re counting on it to raise the resale value, so we’re not allowed to go up. I haven’t seen it myself, but that door leads to it” he nodded towards a door with an ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign. “If you’re curious.”  
  
He nodded quickly. “Thanks, Cole.” A soft and familiar smile played on his lips, his acquaintance now feeling more like a close friend. “You won’t get fired,” he asked, a sudden concern for the other man.

  
“You didn’t hear it from me,” the bartender said with a quick wink.  
  
“Naturally,” he said before hopping off the stool and quickly making a run for the door. Cole had tried his best to cover the noise by whistling.  
  
 _…it is a music…_

He pushes the door open,

_…of a people…_

And slams it behind him.

_…who will not…_

As he catches his breathe he looks up the flight of stairs standing before him. He hadn’t been expecting to exert himself this much, but it’s too late to go back. And either way, the voices are back, calling him up the stairs with their magnetic whisperings.

_…be slaves again…_

He’s drawn upwards until he reaches the room. He around and before walking up the last step throws a quick glance down the stairs to make sure no one is coming for him. He enters, closes the door behind him, and walks into the center. He’s suddenly overcome with a soothing warmth and the voices come back, stronger, more urgent.

_...with us to the man…_

He think he hears gunshots, but a quick glance around tells him that they’re not there.

 _…do we have all the guns…_  
  
And that same quick glance tells him that _they’re_ not there.

_…like the flowing…_

And he wonders where they went as they begin to take shape in front of him, ready to take on the world.

_…of the tide…_

Joly is panicking over the latest ‘outbreak’ of the ‘flu’ amongst them (but it was only poor, unfortunate Bosset with a cold), Enjolras is trying to regain control of the meeting, Grantaire has eyes only for his golden god, Bahorel is bounding up the stairs, adrenaline rushing, Feuilly is talking with Jehan and patiently folding a fan while Jehan tousles his hair, Combeferre is looking directly at him, quietly sliding his glasses back onto his nose.

_…Paris coming…_

  
Combeferre.

 _…to our side…_  
  
Combeferre…

 _…make ‘em pay…_  
  
The voices are screaming, the gunshots are ringing, and there’s blood flowing and staining the floor around him as recognition overwhelms him and brings him to his knees.

… _through the nose…_

  
“Make ‘em pay for every man,” he whispers into the floor.   
  
And that’s when Thernadier runs up the stairs, hoists him onto his feet, and drags him out of the café by his arm.   
  
Despite his protests Courfeyrac is whisked out of the room and down the stairs, still too shocked to proper fight back. But he still calls for Combeferre as best as he can.  
  
“Comb—Cole! Cole!” he shouts as Thernadier shoves him out the door, ordering him to never return on punishment of imprisonment or worse. Courfeyrac manages to catch Combeferre’s eye just before Thernadier shuts the door, and he hopes that ‘Ferre got the message his eyes were trying to send. But he doesn’t force the door back open once he regains his bearings because he knows that if Thernadier has remembered (or perhaps even if he hasn’t) he will follow through with his violent threats. Defeated, Courfeyrac walks back to his dorm, trying to lay a plan of action. He’s only the center. Even if he found the others he wouldn’t be able to lead them at all and without Combeferre he can’t even begin to find everyone. He racks his brain trying to remember if he’s seen anyone familiar lately, but no one comes to mind. He had just come from his theatre history class, which is a problem. It’s the only class he shares with Combeferre and they only meet on Fridays and Wednesdays. That’s five days before Courfeyrac will see him again and he won’t dare go back into the Musain by himself. He’ll figure something out. He has too, for what is a center with nothing to surround it?  
  
As he opens the door to his suite-styled dorm, he collapses on the couch and sleeps, exhausted from all the memories flooding back. He doesn’t wake until the next morning, and he clearly remembers his dream filled with Jehan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the lyrics are a little obnoxious, but I promise they will go away eventually.


End file.
